Shattered
Image Credits: Grace Lampmann
The final flares of a setting sun leaked through the countless windows of Rushberg Manor, the expansive house the only benefit of Cassandra’s marriage. She ignored the beautiful scenery to her left and strode down the winding hall, breaking the pools of light that danced across the floor. Her evening would yet again be consumed by proper gowns and unwanted guests.
Both Cassandra’s stroll and ponders abruptly halted. Out of the corner of her eye, she had seen movement, a person, it appeared. A wave of panic washed through her and raised the hairs on her arms, brushing her with a cold wind. She had heard stories of intrusions, horrific tales of robberies….
She desperately dismissed her fear and strictly lectured herself on the mind’s hallucinations. Her instincts quietly urged her feet to run, to be rid of the danger pursuing her. Yet she managed to force her desires away, maintaining her calm, respectable composure. The sun’s gold wound around her legs and rapidly pulsed with each stride.
She had just reached the end of the hall when her eyes caught a flash of color. This time, she was sure she had seen a face. She rushed to the windows and scanned the darkness in every direction, thrice over. Fear struck her soul; if the figure was not outside, it must have been in the house with her. The velvet carpet once again bore into her heels, but her original pace had been replaced with the fleet of prey.
Neither subconscious nor aware, she acted solely on instinct. As she tore down the hall, she seemed to lose time; she could not remember, nor did she try to remember, the occurrences of just moments ago. Cassandra found herself in the last room right of the hall, pressed against a mahogany door, determined to barricade her attacker. A quick survey of the room drew attention to the presence of her husband’s useless hunting gun, locked away in a glass case. She desperately collected a fistful of her dress and cushioned the cloth around her elbow before piercing the case. The glass shards were scarcely felt and the dripping blood disregarded.
Cassandra fiddled with the gun to check its ammunition and praised her husband’s idiocy upon realizing the weapon was loaded. Under what felt like miles below her, she heard the guests arriving and laughing with their host, seduced by his charm. Swallowing her fear, she tucked the gun under her arm and prepared to shoot, listening carefully to any happenings beyond the door. Hearing no movement, she forced herself to decide upon her fate; wait for the figure to find her, or leave her haven and catch him unaware. She made her choice, inhaled deeply, and turned the golden knob.
She threw open the door and came face to face with her danger, who stood not five feet away from her. The absence of light permitted only dark shades, masking the intruder’s features. With great surprise, she noticed the outline’s feminine figure, causing her to hesitate before raising her weapon. The woman stared right back at her, challenging her to take action. Quickly aiming the gun at the figure’s chest, she pulled the trigger.
For a single moment, the world seemed to pause, the bullet suspended in the air. Caught in the evening’s sea of blue reflected Cassandra’s own green eyes, bearing the soul of a stranger.
The window shattered, splitting to pieces the woman she once knew.